


be in your arms without leaving mine

by seventhstar



Series: ace of hearts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Katsuki Yuuri, Asexual Victor Nikiforov, Comedy of Errors, Editor Yuuri Katsuki, M/M, Misunderstandings, Valentine's Day, Wedding Planner Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: Viktor, Yuuri’s new boyfriend, loves Valentine’s Day. He has a bowl of candy hearts on his desk on February 1st and he buys rose petal bath bombs by the dozen. He’s spent the last two weeks planning an elaborate date for the both of them.And unfortunately, Yuuri is unreasonably attached to Viktor even though they’ve only been dating for four months, and really, really hates to disappoint him.





	be in your arms without leaving mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FullmetalChords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Meg!
> 
> thanks to dommi for the beta

_my love feeds on your love, beloved,_  
_and as long as you live it will be in your arms_  
_without leaving mine._

* * *

 

Yuuri hates Valentine’s Day.

He hates the constant reminder that he’s single. He hates the powdery candy hearts. He hates that inevitably he has to have an awkward conversation, if he’s dating at the time, and then he has to spend the rest of the day alone.

The only good thing about Valentine’s Day, as far as Yuuri is concerned, is that after it’s over all the good chocolate is half-price.

There is, however, _one_ thing Yuuri hates more than Valentine’s Day.

“You’re free tomorrow, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll come get you at six,” Viktor says cheerfully. “I found a good place to watch the sunrise.”

(Thank god Viktor doesn’t ask him to sleep over.)

Viktor, Yuuri’s new boyfriend, loves Valentine’s Day. He has a bowl of candy hearts on his desk on February 1st and he buys rose petal bath bombs by the dozen. He’s spent the last two weeks planning an elaborate date for the both of them.

And unfortunately, Yuuri is unreasonably attached to Viktor even though they’ve only been dating for four months, and really, really hates to disappoint him.

“This is my favorite holiday,” Viktor tells him.

“Great,” Yuuri says, with an enthusiasm he does not feel. “See you tomorrow.”

“Love you,” Viktor says, and he mercifully hangs up before Yuuri can panic about answering.

Yuuri looks at the bouquet he bought yesterday—white roses—and the box of chocolates he bought the day before—poodle shaped—and sighs heavily as he turns back to his computer.

This is going to go so poorly.

* * *

“It’s raining,” Viktor says mournfully. He drapes himself over Yuuri like a Lethifold. Yuuri pats him on the back.

He’s showed up for their date in a blue sweater that brings out his eyes; he looks awake, alert, and beautiful. He liked the roses, and he ate three of the chocolates to soothe his sorrows. So that’s two things Yuuri didn’t mess up.

Yuuri is wearing whatever was nearest, because he was too busy freaking out to sleep and is very tired. His shirt might be on backwards. He’s half tempted to ask if Viktor wants to come to bed and cuddle him while he naps. But that’s not very romantic.

“Well, we can go to brunch early,” Viktor says. He detaches himself from Yuuri. “I made us a reservation—” His phone starts going off. Viktor frowns, and Yuuri hopes it’s not a client because people who are getting married are always unreasonable. “...the restaurant caught fire.”

Yuuri jumps, suddenly awake. “What?”

“No one was hurt, but they’re closed all day.” Viktor sighs. “And it’s raining, so we can’t even go to Belle Isle…I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

It would probably upset Viktor to tell him that inside Yuuri is doing a victory dance of relief, so he just shrugs and pats Viktor on the shoulder.

“We could have pancakes,” he offers. “I have a pancake maker.”

“...a pancake maker?”

The miniature griddle was Yuuri’s prize during a Yankee Swap in college. It’s still in its box; Yuuri’s never used it. He’s not even sure why he brought it with him when he moved out of the dorms, except that he had a vague idea that someday he would progress from being a ‘microwaved Eggo waffle’ adult to a ‘makes homemade buckwheat pancakes’ adult.

He gives Viktor his one apron, since Viktor’s clothes are more expensive, and rummages around for the ingredients. There’s an unopened box of pancake mix in the cabinet. Together they pour the ingredients into a mixing bowl; Viktor whisks it vigorously while Yuuri tries to parse the griddle instructions.

“Do we have any fruit?”

“Uh,” Yuuri checks, “I have...a can of pineapple. And strawberry syrup.”

They look at each other. _That sounds terrible,_ Yuuri thinks, but before he can apologize Viktor beams.

“It’ll be an adventure.”

“Okay.”

They burn the first two, first because they can’t figure out the temperature controls on the griddle and the second because they’ve both forgotten to grab something to flip the pancakes with. But the next few turn out all right, round and fluffy and golden brown, with the sweet smell of sugar and vanilla.

Yuuri offers Viktor a plate. He’s drawn a lopsided heart on the top pancake with strawberry syrup.

Viktor puts the plate down to kiss him.

By the time they both sit down to eat, the pancakes have gotten a little cold. To Yuuri’s relief, pineapple and strawberry pancakes turn out to be delicious.

“You know,” Viktor says between mouthfuls, “this would be a good idea for a wedding breakfast!”

He holds out his fork, and Yuuri opens his mouth obediently.

“A wedding breakfast?”

“One of my clients wants a dawn wedding.”

Viktor insists on helping clean up afterwards, so he loads the dishwasher while Yuuri scrubs the burnt pancake off the griddle. Is that what it would be like if we lived together, Yuuri thinks, and then shakes his head. Viktor’s brow is furrowed as he rearranges Yuuri’s dishwasher for maximum efficiency. Yuuri never bothers—not enough dishes—but he can’t help but smile as he watches Viktor carefully line up glasses on one side and bowls on the other.

The rain continues to fall heavily, enormous droplets bouncing off of the pavement, the gutters running like mountain streams. There’s no chance they’ll be able to do any outdoor pursuits.

“Poor Makkachin,” VIktor murmurs. “She hates getting wet. I hope it clears up before I walk her.”

“Yeah.”

They end up sitting side by side on Yuuri’s secondhand couch, a monstrosity in orange corduroy. The cushions are thick, and Viktor’s shoulder is the right height to lean his head on. He’s doing something on his phone, humming as he types. Yuuri is warm and comfortable and well-fed.The sound of the rain falling lulls him back to sleep; Viktor runs his nails absently over his scalp as he dozes.

_This is nice…_

Yuuri likes to get out of the house after too many hours in front of the computer editing. Viktor likes to stay in after too many hours trying to placate overwrought brides and grooms. If someone had described it to him, Yuuri would have said it was a bad match, but instead, he and Viktor seem to meet in the middle. A perfect fit.

“Do you want to stay in for the rest of the day? I’ll make lunch.”

Yuuri thinks of how excited Viktor was to spend the day on a date and shakes his head.

“No, let’s go out. Do you like art?”

“I like art.”

“There’s this exhibit at the Institute of Art I wanted to see,” Yuuri says. “We could go check it out together.”

“What kind of exhibit?”

“1800s British fashion. I need a reference for this manuscript i’m editing.”

“You...want to take me to an exhibit full of period dresses.”

“We can do something else if you want—”

“That is the _most romantic thing_ anyone’s ever proposed to me,” VIktor says. “Let’s go!”

* * *

Viktor isn’t joking about loving Regency-era fashions, although Yuuri should have guessed, based on the number of romance novels in his apartment. While Yuuri takes pictures and notes to use while he edits the novel, Viktor wanders around examining everything and absently spouting off random facts about the period.

“Maybe you should edit this book,” Yuuri says. “The author keeps emailing me to ask if everything is accurate, and I have no idea.”

“I’ve read hundreds of these. I even tried to write one once.”

“You did?’

“It was awful,” Viktor admits. “But it made me realize I wasn’t happy with what I was doing—that’s why I decided to become a wedding planner.”

“I want to see it.”

“Maybe if you’re still around in six months. It might scare you off.”

The fashion collection isn’t too large, but then there’s other exhibits from the same time period. There’s furniture, art, crockery. Yuuri finds himself following Viktor from glass case to case, writing things down, making Viktor laugh when he asks why men’s trousers have a strap underneath the foot to hold them in place.

“I mean, what if you want to roll them up?”

“Yuuri, not everyone rolls up all their pants.”’ Viktor looks down pointedly at Yuuri’s jeans, where the cuff rests just above his ankle.

“It’s raining.”

“You could wear boots.”

“My ankles need to breathe.”

The plan is to see the relevant exhibits and then go out for lunch, but the rain continues to pour down and they get lost in the Asian Art section for hours. Their perusal of the art on display devolves into a conversation about Hasetsu Castle, and then into a discussion about where they would go on vacation if they could.

Yuuri is surprised to find that Viktor has no fixed plans for future vacations; he spends all his time planning at work and has no desire to do extra planning on vacation.

“I’d just book my tickets and go,” he says.

“But what if you didn’t get to do everything?”

“It’s not a race, Yuuri.”

Viktor peers at the map of the museum. He’s not very good at navigating it, but Yuuri has no desire to actually leave, so he lets Viktor make wrong turns as they wander.

“And you’d go to Thailand?”

“Phichit and I had this trip planned—one week in Bangkok, one week in Hasetsu. So we could show each other around.”

“I’d like to take you to Russia,” Viktor says.

“R-really?”

“My aunt and uncle would like you.”

Yuuri stares at the ground to hide his flush. He’s barely told his family about Viktor, yet; he can’t help but feel like telling them will doom it. Viktor’s showed him pictures he’s texted to his family back home, introduced him to the cousin who visited him last month. It feels like he just met Viktor yesterday. It feels like Viktor has always been here.

“Do you want to see this next one?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri blinks. “Sure, why not?”

Viktor looks away. His smile is distinctly strained as he says, “Well, it’s....pornography.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. He swallows. “Never mind. I’m hungry.”

He is hungry, so it’s not really a lie. That said, when Viktor brings them both ice cream cones from a drenched vendor, and they stand underneath an awning eating them, Yuuri barely tastes his. If Viktor wants to introduce him to his family, he’s serious. And if he’s serious, he’ll expect their relationship to progress to…

 _Maybe he won’t mind,_ Yuuri thinks, aware of the voice in his head, the one that sounds like Minako, saying he should aim for better than his partners not minding. The voice of Yuuri’s insecurity is stronger, though. He says nothing.

* * *

“Still raining,” Viktor says as they drip into his apartment. He bends down to unlace his shoes, and Yuuri kicks off his sneakers and slips past him to pet his dog. Makkachin, large, sleepy, and brown, lifts her head as he ruffles the curly fur on top of her head.

“Are you going to walk her?”

“Yes, but you can stay in, no need for both of us to get wet.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I can get started on dinner?”

“I’m not sure I have any food.” Viktor grins sheepishly. “Can you order something? There’s money in the jar.”

“I got it.”

Yuuri flops down on the floor of Viktor’s living room and scrolls through GrubHub as he waits for Viktor to return. The apartment isn’t much larger than Yuuri’s own, but the enormous windows make it look twice the size. The couch, armchair, and ottoman are all a matching navy; the bookshelves on the walls are red. The carpet is soft, and Yuuri sprawls out as he impulsively orders too much Japanese food.

He hits delivery—there’s no way he’s going out in this rain again—and sighs.

“Viktor…”

If they were going to live together, it would be here, Yuuri thinks. It’s crazy to think about living together after four months, but the way he feels about Viktor isn’t the way he felt about the other guys he dated. The idea of living with him should make him anxious, but instead it’s comforting. Yuuri likes the idea of Viktor always being around: when Yuuri wakes and when he falls asleep, there to carry out experiments in breakfast food and to walk the dog when it’s raining.

He imagines telling his parents he’s dating Viktor and he loves him.

Then he imagines telling them Viktor broke up with him.

Maybe he can just avoid the topic of sex forever. It’s not like Viktor has ever made a move. On the other hand, maybe Viktor is a hardcore romantic and tonight is going to be the night. There has to be a way to tell him that isn’t terrible but Yuuri’s never managed it. He always feels weirdly presumptive saying the words.

He’s lucky, he supposes, that most people have been supportive. Even the ones who broke up with him were kind about it.

“Stop being a coward and just do it,” he says out loud. “Viktor, I’m asexual.”

It comes out thin and soft, just like Yuuri’s courage. Sighing, he rolls on to his stomach and waits for Viktor to come home.

* * *

“Blegh.”

Viktor drops his fork with a clatter. Yuuri, in the process of bringing a mouthful of questionable katsudon up to his mouth, pauses and puts a hand on his thigh.

“Is there something wrong with the rice?” He tries the katsudon and gags. It tastes like lemon rind and sadness. His mother wouldn’t even let something like this onto the grounds of the onsen, let alone in Yuuri’s mouth. “Oh my god.”

“It’s terrible.”

“It is.”

They look at each other. Yuuri fumbles for an apology, here he is ruining Valentine’s Day for Viktor, but Viktor shrugs and squeezes his shoulders. They both lean back against the couch and stare at the spread of food on the coffee table.

“...movie?” Yuuri asks.

“I’ll make popcorn. Let’s just compost this.”

Yuuri tips the food into one of Viktor’s composting bags and ties it off, then dumps it into the bin by the door. Viktor comes back with an enormous bowl of buttery popcorn. As he sits down on the couch, Yuuri goes to sit next to him so they can snuggle.

Viktor catches him by the hips and settles him in his lap instead. Yuuri jumps, but Viktor only folds his arms around Yuuri’s waist and rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder.

The popcorn bowl ends up on Yuuri’s knees.

“See, now we can share,” Viktor says. It’s exactly the kind of ridiculous statement Viktor makes sound reasonable. He has a comfortable lap, though, and he smells good. Yuuri gives in. He grabs the remote and selects something off Netflix without really paying attention. There’s a woman in a period dress on the poster; it’s probably fine.

* * *

“...did she just kill him?”

“Maybe...maybe it was an accident.”

* * *

“Yuuri, I don’t think this is a romance.”

“Shh, I want to see if she gets caught.”

* * *

“Did she just—”

“Damn.”

“This movie is terrifying. I’m going to have nightmares.”

* * *

Finally the credits roll. Yuuri yawns, Viktor’s bangs tickling the back of his neck, and sets the empty popcorn bowl aside. Viktor is clinging to him like a limpet. If Yuuri had known scary movies had this effect on him he’d have taken him to one sooner.

“You look tired,” Viktor says. “Do you want to stay over?”

_Oh, no._

Yuuri sucks in a breath. It’s happening. He’s been having such a good time, he almost forgot. Viktor sounds so hopeful.

He’s been trying not to think about it, and admittedly the movie has been a welcome distraction, but here it is. The moment of truth, or at least the moment in which Yuuri needs to come up with a good excuse to leave.

“I…sure.”

Well. That’s that. Foiled by his inability to say no to Viktor about anything again.

Yuuri gets up and takes the bowl to the kitchen.

In the living room, Viktor is stretching. He arches his back, arms over his head, and sighs deeply. When Yuuri comes back he pulls him into his arms, and Yuuri rests his face against Viktor’s shoulder.

“I actually have a present for you—I wanted to wait to give it to you until you stayed over.”

“No,” Yuuri blurts out, and he shoves Viktor away.

 _Just tell him,_ he thinks, aware of the fact he’s shaking. Viktor’s hands are steady on his shoulders. _Just tell him._

“I…”

“Actually,” Viktor runs a hand through his hair. “There’s something I should tell you. I’m ace.”

“What?”

Of all the things Viktor could have said, that is the last thing Yuuri expected. Even though Viktor has never tried to have sex with him, and he didn’t want to see the pornography exhibit, and a thousand other things that make Yuuri realize, belatedly, that he is an idiot.

“I don’t experience sexual attraction. So when I say I want you to sleep over—”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Yuuri says. He laughs, near hysterical with relief. “I’ve been trying to come out to you all day. Viktor, I’m ace.”

“Oh. Oh! So you don’t want to—”

“Yeah. I mean, no.”

Yuuri hesitates. Then he hugs Viktor again.

“I got us matching pajamas.”

“I love matching pajamas,” Yuuri says, nearly delirious with relief. He’s going to call his parents in the morning. _I love you._

“I do, too,” Viktor says.

The pajamas have little hearts all over them.

Really, Yuuri thinks as Viktor kisses him goodnight and then tucks his head under Yuuri’s chin to sleep, this is the best Valentine’s Day he’s ever had.

* * *

“Vitya, get your freezing hands out from under my shirt!”

“But they’re cold.”

“Well, warm them up somewhere else!”

“No!”

“Fine, I’m getting up.”

“You can’t, I’ll _die.”_

Yuuri sighs as he strokes Viktor’s hair. At least with Viktor’s head on Yuuri’s shoulder, he can’t reach Yuuri with what Yuuri suspects are equally freezing feet. He’s going to have to buy Viktor socks for Christmas.

“Hey, Vitya?”

“Mm?”

“Do you want to come to Walgreens with me and buy all the half-price candy?”

**Author's Note:**

> my first time writing about ace characters in this fandom, so feedback is very much appreciated.


End file.
